Confusing
by PicnicAtHangingRockGirl
Summary: "But you take as much for granted." she pointed out. "All of you men at the store just go around doing whatever you like because none of us women ever reports you." Mr. Harman reflected, "Well, I suppose you all know young Mr. Grace wouldn't be of much help." Set during the 1970s film, Mr. Harman and Miss Brahams discuss their feelings.


(A/N: Set during the 1977 movie, the night after the rest of the group found out Mr. Harman had a better room.)

As soon as Miss Brahms had gotten out of Mrs. Slocombe's tent, an idea struck her. She ducked half of her body back into Mrs. Slocombe's tent and said, "Mrs. Slocombe, I know I said I'd be around for you to call me, if you need any help-"

"Yes, dearie, and I'm very thankful for it," she said, although Miss Brahms suddenly suspected Mrs. Slocombe wasn't really anticipating using her offer.

"Well, I…" Miss Brahms's bit her lower lip and thought a moment about how to phrase her next sentence. Then, she smiled to herself and continued, "I just need to pop inside to get a glass of water."

"Oh, well, that's alright." Mrs. Slocombe assured her. "I'm sure Captain Peacock won't come around until he thinks everyone's gone to bed."

"Right," Mrs. Brahms nodded once. "Well, I'll just go get that water now."

"Take your time, Miss Brahms." Mrs. Slocombe said, as Miss Brahms ducked back out. She also added, "But make sure to wear your bathrobe. You might get some of the locals excited running about in your nightie."

Miss Brahms said, "Oh, don't worry. I'll get it."

Then, she went to her tent and put on her lavender bathrobe. She was tying it shut, when she went back out and looked up at Mr. Harman's room. The doors were closed, but she could see light through the blinds and Mr. Harman's silhouette pass by.

She took a deep breath and then headed towards the main building.

Right as she was going to knock on Mr. Harman's door, a feeling of dread rushed into her, like when she was in school and she wanted to know if a cute boy liked her enough to ask her out on a date. But she never had to decide to knock on the door or just retreat back to her tent, because Mr. Harman opened it.

He raised his eyebrows, curiously, "Oh, hello, Miss Brahms, I was just leaving out the trolley my food was brought on. Well, actually," he looked at, with her, "I haven't finished all of it. I never really liked anything spicy, so I just thought I'd give them back the chicken." He turned to her and offered, "You can have it, then, if you want."

She pursed her lips, crossly, "Oh, well, isn't that nice of you. Should I say, 'Oh, thank you, o great Earl of Harman.'?"

He gave her a humorous smile, "Well, if you think it necessary."

She gave him a bored look, "No, I don't think it's necessary, you," she scanned him up and down, contemptuously, "no good traitor."

"What? A traitor?" he asked, still smiling. "All because I got a better room than the rest of you?"

"Exactly,"

He lost his smile and asked, more seriously, "Well, then, what are you doing, visiting a _no good traitor_ like me, then?" He added, half-jokingly, "It might give the others the wrong impression."

She opened her mouth in disgust, then told him, "As if they'd think I'd ever be involved with someone like you."

Mr. Harman frowned, but tried to keep it hidden, "Well. So is that what you really think of me, because I'm from maintenance?"

"No." she insisted, in a less angry tone. "It's got nothing to do with that."

"Well, what has it got to do with, then?"

"You having," she motioned to the inside of his room, "a better room than the rest of us."

He watched her take a better look in his room. The bed was big, covered by a crimson comforter and white sheets. The nightstands, wardrobes, and desks were beautifully hand carven. There was a television right across from the bed too.

She met his eyes, acidly, "Looks cozy."

"It is." he admitted, a little scared of her. He avoided her eyes and wrung his hands together. After a moment, he asked, "Well, how is it, then? Your tent. Warm enough for you then?"

"It's a hot country." she reminded him, sternly.

"Oh, right." He said, at the floor. He locked eyes with her and asked, "Well, the pamphlets said they have breezy nights. That ought to keep you cool."

"Well, it has cooled down a bit," she admitted, a touch of anger still in her voice.

Mr. Harman felt like his stomach had ice swishing around in it, as he offered, "Well, you could always stay here."

She raised one brow at him, "No thanks. It might give the others the wrong impression about us."

"They wouldn't have to know," but he realized what that sounded like, right after it escaped his lips.

"Yes, but we'd know." She added, "And I really don't fancy getting to know you _that_ well here or anywhere."

Mr. Harman wrung his hands together again, "I didn't mean it like that. I wasn't implying that we…well, you know, did anything. I could sleep on the couch and you could have the bed."

Miss Brahms was struck by his honesty, but she forced herself to stay angry with him. She said, "Yes, but that could lead to you _forgettin'_ I was there and then you would crawl in-"

He reached out and stopped short of resting his hand on her arm, "I wouldn't, Miss Brahms. I promise."

Miss Brahms felt herself lose at being angry. He was just too…not like Captain Peacock, young Mr. Grace, or the other men in the store.

"Well," she looked down, but then made herself meet his eyes, "this could just be part of your plan to get into bed with me."

"No, it isn't." he insisted, softly. "We really don't have to do anything you don't want to. We could just talk."

"Men don't ever want to just talk."

"Well, no, I guess not, usually, but I would like to talk to you."

"What makes you think I'd want to talk to you?"

Mr. Harman reminded her, "You came here." He added, "Now, really, I think I deserve an explanation, a real one."

She said, "I-I… Well, why'd you even have to come on this trip and make things so confusing?"

Realization passed over his face, as he admitted, "I guess that's why I came, because things are confusing for me too."

She gave him a sad, bitter look, "But what are you confused about? How you can get your game in between Captain Peacock and Mr. Lucas?"

He gave her a serious look, "No, do you really think I'm like them?" He added, "I'm not even married-"

"But you take as much for granted." she pointed out. "All of you men at the store just go around doing whatever you like because none of us women ever reports you."

Mr. Harman reflected, "Well, I suppose you all know young Mr. Grace wouldn't be of much help."

"Yeah," she agreed, with tears suddenly stuck in her eyes.

"Now, come on, don't go on crying like that." Mr. Harman took a step closer to her, but she immediately backed away and gave him a cold look. He stepped back and muttered, "Sorry,"

Miss Brahma looked at him, at his eyes. They were called the windows to the soul. Something about his eyes suddenly made her say, without anger, "It's alright."

"No," he shook his head, "it's not alright. You shouldn't be here like you are, crying because of me."

She averted her eyes and said, softly, "It's not all for you."

"Well, maybe, but don't you think we should just stop avoiding the subject?"

Miss Brahms shared a kind of look with him that could have led to anything.

She said, eyes down cast, "I think I should be heading back now. I told Mrs. Slocombe I was just getting' a glass of water."

Just as she started to leave, Mr. Harman reached out, but lowered his hand immediately, "Wait…"

She looked back at him and said, "I don't think there's anything more for us to discuss."

"Yeah, there is." he decided, certainly and nervously. He opened his mouth, then closed it. After a deep breath, he told her, "We've both said that being here, together, is confusing for both of us and, well, I think we need to figure out why that is."

Miss Brahams just stared at him, a slight quiver rippling through her.

Mr. Harman suggested, "Maybe… Maybe, you and I could be more cordial to each other. We come from the same place after all and," he jested, "we've got the best accents on account."

A smile tugged on her lips, "Yes, I suppose we have."

They shared a sort of sentimental look. Suddenly, everything about it being night struck them, a romantic feeling that lingered around them.

Miss Brahams felt meekness and confidence mix around in her, as she went over to him. Mr. Harman could hardly believe it, when she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. She smiled at him, afterwards, and found that he was felt the same way she did.

He jested, blushing, his hand on the place she had kissed him, "Is that all?"

She laughed and blushed as much as he already did, and tried to say something, but felt to overcome with the moment and just kissed him on the lips. Her arms found his way around him, which surprised him for a moment, and then he rested his hands on her waist.

He was surprisingly sweet, nothing like the men she was used to. He seemed to listen to her body language, not just his desires. It was what she had imagined romance was when she was a little girl, affectionate, mutual, and all glass slippers and pumpkins that could be used as carriages.

When it was over, Mr. Harman gave her a look that asked her how it was, and all she could do was smile, "That was nice."

He gave her a flattered smile, "Well, you're a nice girl."

She looked down, shyly, and then locked eyes with him, as she backed up and pointed her thumb over her shoulder, "Well, I better be getting' back. Mrs. Slocombe will be wonderin' where I've gone."

He titled his head and told her, "You really are a nice girl. Well, I can live with some old fashioned values. I was around, when they were new values." She chuckled with him and he thought to offer, "Well, wait, hang on, you can still have some chicken."

She shook her head, sweetly, "No, but thanks for the offer." She paused a moment, before she added, "Goodnight, Beverley."

A smile slipped onto his face, "Goodnight, Shirley."

There was a twinkle in his eyes that really made her feel like all those fairy tale princesses she used to read about, which she relished in, before she had to return to Mrs. Slocombe.


End file.
